


I Blossom In Your Arms

by neomints



Series: Denial and Patience [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, nothing too bad!! Just a No Homo sorta thing, this isnt like most of my work but i cant put my finger on why...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-11-02 12:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomints/pseuds/neomints
Summary: So Yahaba wasn't gay. Really, truly he wasn't.In fact there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the situation he'd found himself in. Hands in bottle-blond coarse hair, lips caught in chapped ones, the warmth of calloused fingers on the back of his neck...This may have looked gay to anyone who could've stumbled upon it, but Yahaba reassured himself that there was no way that was the case.--Kyoutani and Yahaba kiss, the gay crisis only comes when Kyoutani stops kissing him.





	I Blossom In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for Jets, I couldn't stop thinking about Kyouhaba since we talked about them, and I wanted to share my daydreams with you.
> 
> I hope you like it <:3c

Yahaba isn't gay.

This was a fact he knew as well as any; like how setting from three gave a better strategic advantage; or how the kanji in his name could mean many things, all of which his mother had hoped for him to be able to do.

So Yahaba wasn't gay. Really, truly he wasn't.

In fact there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the situation he'd found himself in. Hands in bottle-blond coarse hair, lips caught in chapped ones, the warmth of calloused fingers on the back of his neck...

This may have looked gay to anyone who could've stumbled upon it, but Yahaba reassured himself that there was no way that was the case.

It was a competition, nothing more. Sure it might've become a bit of a habit, but so was arguing over the best kind of rice or the best way to warm up before going at a volleyball drill. Yahaba was only doing this because he had something to prove.

He was only kissing Kyoutani to show that he was the better kisser. It was a show of strength.

It kind of felt like he was losing though.

It always did, when Kyoutani was involved, but Yahaba would never admit to that. Neither of them had ever admitted to how they'd felt about the other's kissing skills, and they'd only backed down a handful of times. Even then it was always a result of one of them getting a little overenthusiastic and hurting the other, ending the little make-out session early.

Today wasn't any different, the two of them steadily slowed down to a stop, matching each others rhythm. Whenever it reached the point when Yahaba would say the kiss might've counted as sensual, or worse; _tender_, he'd always end it abruptly. Then the two of them would get up, bicker, and find their respective ways home.

Today though, Kyoutani didn't get up.

He sat there, almost straddling Yahaba's lap, and squirmed on Yahaba's thigh.

Yahaba, growing warm from being tired and annoyed (and nothing else), made a move to get up. It was then that Kyoutani put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, and then moved forward to bury his nose into Yahaba's neck, hands finding their way around the warmth of Yahaba's winter uniform.

Yahaba sat there, his mind steadily catching upto what happened.

Kyoutani was on him, he was _hugging_ him, he was _nuzzling him._

_What._ The. _Fuck._

Yahaba opened his mouth to ask what the hell Kyoutani thought he was doing when he beat Yahaba to the punch.

Quietly, and much more gently than Yahaba had ever heard him, he whispered into Yahaba's neck, "is this okay?"

Heat found it's way into Yahaba's neck, face and ears, both familiar yet unfamiliarly _intense_. This was how Kyoutani always made him feel, and what way was there to explain it but pure and unadulterated loathing?

Yahaba didn't know, but it didn't stop him from raising his voice.

"What the fuck?" Yahaba, said. He made no move to push Kyoutani off him, his body felt like lead and cotton and a red hot iron, "What the hell are you implying? Do you think I'm that fucking fragile? That a single damn touch will break me in fucking half??"

"No!" Kyoutani pushed himself off Yahaba, hands securely on both of Yahaba's shoulders. He refused to look away from Yahaba, eyes more intense than they are even on the court, but full of something... more, "I'd never think that about you, fucking idiot, I just- I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

He grumbled the last sentence, eyes downturned and grip still strong on the fabric around Yahaba's shoulders.

Yahaba couldn't fully comprehend what was going on. His mind was on overdrive and his heart... it was doing something. He didn't know how he felt about it.

He didn't really know how he felt about anything right then, but at least he could offer an answer.

"I'm not- uh, _not_ uncomfortable." He responded, hesitantly.

Kyoutani studied Yahaba's expression and Yahaba found himself swallowing air. What the hell was Kyoutani trying to do..? It felt like it might've been some kind of ploy, a prank, anything. But the look in his eyes was just too genuine to ignore.

He leaned forward and buried his face in Yahaba's neck again, and Yahaba almost forgot to breathe.

They stayed like that for a while; Kyoutani holding him like he was the secret to the universe, Yahaba sitting there, like a limp corpse of someone he thought he was supposed to be.

If he listened carefully he could almost imagine there was something blossoming inside him. 

(Just as his mother had hoped he'd be able to do.)

But instead he was deafened by the sound of his own heart, and the sound of Kyoutani's breathing against his ear.

Eventually Yahaba relaxed, the world faded into a haze of warmth and cool winter afternoons.

The last thing he remembered was the feeling of something rough and familiar pressing against his neck, and a whisper of something that may have been a confession; or perhaps a promise.

The world faded out, and for a moment, Yahaba thoight he might actually enjoy doing this for the rest of his life.

\--

When Yahaba woke up he glared at his ceiling for his customary fifteen minutes, then proceeded to punch his pillow for another five.

He always does this when he has one of _those_ dreams about Kyoutani, and that morning would be no exception.

He got up, took his shower, brushed his teeth, checked his schedule, packed his bag, petted his cat good morning, and made his way down to the kitchen.

"Mornin' mom," he said, wiping his eyes.

"Shige-chan!" She said, disappointment heavy in her voice, "you need to pace yourself sweetie, I was told you passed out after practice!" 

Ah, so that's why Yahaba couldn't remember anything after practice, that dream must've just kept his evening going after he'd fallen asleep.

"Sorry mom," he said, yawning and making a mental note to watch his routine better.

"Though that boyfriend of yours really is so sweet! To think he'd carry you all the way here after the fact," his mother had the dreamy look on her face she used whenever she was reminiscing her youth, and it took a solid minute for Yahaba's mind to catch up to what she was saying.

"He's not my boyfriend!!"

"Haha, then how come you know exactly who I'm talking about, dear?"

"UGH!"

Yahaba stormed out of the house, face hot and fists clenched.

He walked to school and thought about the warmth he thought he'd dreamt, but wasn't so sure of anymore.

He thought of a rough boy, and his surprisingly caring demeanor.

He thought of lips and hands and eyes full of fire and how close he'd been to them.

He thought of a promise, or maybe a confession, and how his heart skipped a beat when he remembered it.

Yahaba isn't gay.

This was a fact he knew, like how the greeks thought the sun revolved around the earth, or how the kanji for Shigeru- to blossom- was once the most impossible one to write.

And maybe, Yahaba thinks, maybe he wouldn't mind changing his view on it, with time, patience, and the help of a rough boy who's kisses are gentle like a knowing hand to the rarest flower in a garden.


End file.
